


Apocalyptic (Zombie AU)

by orphan_account



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: But generally not important, Fictional parents, FutureHeart, I can't write gore, M/M, They're made up, Zombie AU, fluffy end, gay shaming, light depictions of violence, rude language, slight gore, this is gay btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Horace Somnusson is a rich boy living under the mansion of his parents, strict rules and all.  From an early age was he removed from public school for what his parents believe is his safety.  But now, all alone against the brute of the apocalypse, Horace finds out what - and who - is behind it.  And with it, maybe even an old friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by! The enorace ship (which I have decided myself to call FutureHeart, just to combat those HollowHeart shippers ;) ) is really below what it should be in content. So, I finally went and got an account. I hope you do enjoy!

Apocalyptic (Enoch x Horace)

A small boy with baggy overalls and ratty hair was always playing in the corner of the playground, digging around in the dirt for worms. None of the other boys and girls wanted to play with him. His stoney blue eyes seemed to scare everyone away. It was one day after his kindergarten class that another shy boy made an exception. 

A little blondie dressed in a perfectly tailored suit toddled over to a patch of weeds and their dandelions. He plucked one of the bright yellow flowers from its roots. He brought it over to the boy in the overalls. 

"Enoch."

The boy turned around, his hard eyes on the other, who sat down beside him. 

"I brought this flower for you." He stuck his hand out shyly. 

Enoch took the flower in his hand. He didn't look at it for even a second, not even saying a word as he leaned forward and gently touched his soft lips to the those of the fashionable boy. 

"Horace!" Said boy broke off the kiss in shock, turning at the sound of his mother's voice. She looked at him in pure dismay. His father stood behind her with a look of disgust. He marched onto the playground. Enoch's empty eyes said nothing, but his eyebrows were knit together in apparent worry. Horace was near trembling. 

"Papa-"

"Enough!" He snatched Horace's hand, glaring at Enoch. "Don't you touch my son with your grimy hands, you fag," he growled. His mother was crying now. The teacher ran up to her to ease the situation. She cried that the hell spawn had assaulted her child. Horace was dragged away. Enoch looked on in horribly masked fear. 

Horace was taken out of public school the next day. His parents hired a teacher to tutor him in home. They had Enoch expelled just for good measure. They never saw each other again. 

\--

Horace is now fourteen years old. As his lessons with his tutor had finished for the day, he is sitting leisurely on the velvet couch in his parents' mansion. He sips black tea as the television set before him blares the news. The subject reads that in that afternoon, a whole field of sheep had been gruesomely murdered, hearts ripped from their chests. No one knows who is responsible. How bizarre. Later, Horace brings it up to his parents at dinner. They make formal small talk on the matter before sucking dry the next tasteless topic. 

Days like this pass by like a steady breeze until a whole seven days have gone by. No one has gotten news of the sheep killer, but a new story has come about. Three people have been submitted to a hospital with a similar, unrecognizable disease. Strangely enough, the patients are completely unknown people and had to be brought in by random witnesses. Their movements are said to be almost zombie-like. However, upon reaching the hospital, their movement completely ceased. The only sign of life was in their irregular heartbeat. Horace tries to shake it off as just another news story. Life can get really pessimistic if you pay too much attention to everything the news announces. 

But the news can't be completely ignored, and every following afternoon that Horace sits down to enjoy his black tea and to watch the news, it seems more and more unknown patients have been submitted to the ER with the same issues. His parents mutter about it over the dinner table. That in itself is something, though it does not seem to trouble them anymore beyond that. After the second week has passed, there is a sudden halt in the production of infected patients. 

Then comes the start of the third week. It is as though whatever is behind this zombie-like epidemic realized that something hadn't been executed quite right. That's when an all new wave begins. 

The day starts no different from any other. Horace's parents leave for work. Horace waits in the living area by the front door for his tutor to arrive. She seems to be late. Horace is looking at his watch when a loud bang sounds from the door. It seemed bizarrely aggressive, so Horace peeks through the small cavity in the door just to be sure. There, he sees his tutor, banging her head against the door repeatedly. With sharp, sculpted fingernails, she runs her hand down the length of the door. The sound sends chills down the length of Horace's back. He continues to stare out the peephole, frozen in utter confusion and curiosity. His tutor, in a split second, jumps right up to the hole and opens her mouth wide before it, revealing bloody teeth. Horace jumps just about five feet in the air, finding it in his legs to back up immediately. He stares at the door, taking a minute to catch his lost breath. Horace backs away slowly, making his way to the house phone. 

He punches in his mother's number at lightning speed. He lets it ring ten times. No answer. Then he punches in his father's number. "Please pick up...Please pick up...Please pick up..." No answer. "The tutor is acting peculiar," he whimpers to no one. The door is banged loudly once again. Horace's breath hitches. 

Unsure of what to do, he walks to the television in hope of drowning out the noise and ignoring the issue in hope the tutor will leave. The news comes to life. 

"'…The outbreak has sprung up again with much more intensity. More than twenty sightings of the zombie-like people have been reported as of this morning. So far, an estimated twenty more have been infected and another ten completely killed...'"

Horace quivers. Killed? He turns his head towards the front door, from which the banging sound is persisting. Horace drags heavy chairs from the living room to block it. He then returns to the television, sitting on the ground before it. Blood is pumping so loudly in his ears now that it's almost impossible to hear the news reporter. 

"'...Witnesses have claimed that the quote on quote zombies spread the illness by completely removing the heart of the victim then placing it back in the chest, which seems to create some sort of reaction that transforms the person's mindset. Here, we have footage of such report. We do ask you to refrain from showing your children...'"

Horace heaves, covering his mouth. His eyes begin to water over. The banging at the door becomes louder and more frequent, more desperate. Horace quickly makes the decision to stand up and move the coffee table to blockade the door. It screeches against the wood floor and leaves a dreadful mark. It should keep him safe for now. He reclaims his spot on the ground before the television, staying close to the phone in case his parents call back. 

\--

At some inopportune time, Horace had drifted off. He wakes slowly to the constant sound of the television and nothing else. It takes him a moment to collect himself, having woken on the hard floor of his suddenly near-empty living space. He blinks slowly, eyelids heavy, as he turns toward the tele. That's when it hits him that this is real, that this epidemic is more than just a fuzzy dream. Following this realization is one that it's oddly quiet, quite easily too quiet. His heart begins to thump erratically in his chest as he remembers that the sound of his tutor at the door is no longer present. 

The television fills the silence. "'...Police believe they have found the source of the affected people. Most appear to be coming from the direction of the southern most hill area, and from there, the long abandoned barn house. All police who have gone to investigate have wound up dead. While they continue their investigation, we advise that you do not leave your house. Again, do not leave your house...'"

If Horace had a hard time hearing before, he sure hears none of it now. The sound of his rushing blood fills his ears instead. Suddenly, the sound of glass cracking and scattering across the floor takes over. Horace turns in the direction of the sound. His tutor broke in through the glass back door. She stares at him with a glossed over, crazed look in her eyes. Her clawed fingers furl and unfurl hungrily. He doesn't quite know what is happening, but he knows he has to go. Horace steals a glance back at his only other exit: the front door, heavily blockaded. There's no way he can move the furniture fast enough. As the tutor takes slow steps closer, Horace gulps, looking just behind her. In a feat of panic and sparking bravery, Horace dashes out the back door straight past the tutor. He hisses, ignoring the glass in his socked feet. He runs as fast as he can from his mansion on the hill. 

In the distance, Horace glimpses other townsfolk fleeing from their homes. Paying no mind, he keeps running, bloody feet leaving trails in the dead grass. There's hardly anywhere to hide. He spots more zombie-like people before him. He needs somewhere to hide. Over the hill, he sees a small shed, resemblant of a barn. It's his only hope. Running out of energy, he makes one last dash to the barn and immediately shuts the door behind him, blocking it with his back. Horace takes a moment to catch his breath, near collapsing against the door. 

A small flame illuminates the single room. 

"Are you here to kill me?" an unknown voice asks. 

Horace squeaks, surprised by the sudden presence. "E-Excuse me? Who are you?"

"I take it you're not with the police, then. Good. I can tell my friends to take a break."

"Who are you?" Horace repeats, attempting to be stern. 

There's a small scuffling noise, and the tiny flame lighting a small fraction of the room bobs in the air as its moved towards Horace. The stranger holds it up to his face, revealing himself to the other. Horace quivers at the sight of his blood and dirt covered face, disheveled hair clumped with similar things. Black bags hang below dim blue eyes. The horrible scowl he wears is plenty to scare Horace into a wall. "Why don't you answer my question first. Who are you?"

"I'm H-H-Horace." Something flashes in the stranger's eyes. "I came here running from the zombie people. My parents are nowhere to be found. I-I am quite fearful for them, actually."

"Your parents?" he repeats, bewildered. "Shouldn't you be happy to be rid of them? I'm ecstatic to never have to hear from mine again."

Horace shakes his head slightly, momentarily rendered speechless. "I-I suppose they may not be perfect, but truly, they care for me."

"Have they never mistreated you? Made little of your feelings?" he asks derogatorily. 

"Well..." Horace looks to the side, eyes glossing over not for the first time this day. 

"Tell me about it."

Horace looks into the stranger's gray-blue eyes hesitantly before retracting his gaze to his feet. "When...I was younger...There was a person I was quite fond of. A-A boy, actually. To say my parents were disapproving would be an understatement. My word, I don't know why I'm telling you all this. It's silly, really." Horace runs his hand through his hair, fighting the sudden urge to both laugh and cry. 

"Please, continue." The stranger's voice seems to have gone frail. 

"Right, uh...It was after school. My parents had come to pick me up, but I hadn't noticed their arrival. I picked a flower from the ground and brought it to the boy. He, uh...The next thing that happened, it's...He, uh...Um..."

"Let me guess..." The stranger carefully set the candlelight a short distance from their feet. "What happened next went something like this." And with those words, he takes Horace in a kiss. His lips are soft, no different from their kiss years in the past. 

"Enoch...?" Horace whispers breathlessly, arms thrown around the other's shoulders. He can feel Enoch's smile, even in the near darkness. Horace chokes out a joyous laugh, crying into Enoch's shoulder. "My word, how could I not have known..."

"Horace..." he mumbles gruffly, burying his own face in said boy's shoulder. "I'm so sorry you were put through that. I, uh, I really hoped I'd be able to meet you again."

Horace continues to sob, all problems forgotten as he rests in the arms of his childhood love. Until he remembers. How he wishes he didn't have to. He takes some time to calm down and cherish the moment until he has to end it. "Enoch," he begins shakily. "Can you please explain to me what's going on out there?"

Enoch growls. "Why do we have to think about 'out there'? It doesn't matter anymore. My friends will take care of it."

"Who are these friends you keep speaking of?" Horace questions suspiciously, hands slipping from their place around Enoch's back. 

"These ones." Enoch makes little motions with his hands, beckoning forward whatever it is that hides in the shadows. A zombie steps forwards and leans down, picking up the candlelight. Horace shrieks, caught off guard. Enoch smirks. "Now, that's no way to treat a friend."

"How - What -"

"They're my puppets." Enoch bounces his hand up and down dramatically midair, and the zombie jumps up and down in perfect synchronism. "It's a gift. I can take the heart of anything and use it to give life to another."

Horace backs up as much as the wall behind him will allow. "You're the one behind all this?"

"Well, yes," Enoch says sharply, as well as half dejectedly. "You understand, don't you? I-"

"Understand? Enoch, people are being killed out there! What is there to understand?" Horace says incredulously. 

Enoch is quickly enraged. "Of course you don't understand! Of all people, I thought you might! But of course not. No one will ever understand me. My parents deserved to die. Everyone deserved to die."

"Enoch..." Horace's eyebrows knit together in worry, tears springing up anew. Enoch turns away from him, embarrassed and unsure. "Enoch...I do understand you...However, there might be better ways to fix this."

Enoch snickers, half facing Horace again. He tries to ignore the tears in the other's eyes. "Like what?"

Horace nervously reaches out for Enoch's hand and slips it into his own. "Like...not caring what your parents think. Being your own person. And that's without having to completely be rid of them. I know...I certainly have not been the best example of that myself, but everyone can change. So can you. So can everyone else in this old town. What I'm trying to say is, instead of ignoring what people say, just acknowledge that you don't feel the same, and that that's perfectly okay. There's nothing special in being normal. So just let them hold onto their beliefs and we'll hold onto ours." Horace smiles nervously, gripping Enoch's hand even tighter now. 

"Horace."

"Yes...?"

"Can I kiss you again?" 

Horace wastes no time in answering. He slides his hands free of Enoch's and around the base of Enoch's neck, pressing his lips to his. Enoch runs his fingers through Horace's messy blond hair, tugging ever so slightly. His chest swells as he sucks on Horace's lip. They only separate when they absolutely must. They stand there for a moment, staring into each other's eyes and catching their breaths. 

Enoch snatches Horace's hand. "Come here." He leads Horace outside the barn. The chaos had completely subsided. "I did a little bit of cleanup while you were giving your little speech." Horace says nothing, just staring into the calmed distance. 

After a moment, he turns and asks, "What will you do now?"

Enoch scowls. "I'll have to run away. Surely, I've been found out."

"Don't you ever tire of all this running?"

"And then what, accept the electric chair?" Enoch sasses. "I have to run."

"I..." Horace gulps. "I'll run away with you!"

Enoch looks at him with a stone face. "I'd be honored. But won't your family miss you?"

"I'll leave them a letter! Besides, it's high time I get out of that old house," Horace insists. 

And so they ran. Horace sent a letter to his family without a return address, ensuring his safety. He and Enoch found woods a few towns over and went out only for food or new clothing. With Enoch's strength and Horace's careful craft, they created a small shack in the forest for themselves. It was, in physical form, a large step down from Horace's previous abode. However, they had a new sense of self and they had each other, and that's all they'd ever need.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading. Probably should've mentioned I'm quite new to the Zombie AU world. I just thought it would be suiting. Please leave a comment below and let me know what you think, compliment or criticism!


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